


The Veneer of Dennis Reynolds

by orphan_account



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Aging, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cognitive Dissonance, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mommy Issues, Narcissism, Other, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dennis struggles with his own perceptions and place in reality as age creeps up on him.





	

Preening. He was always preening himself, not only in the physical sense but in his mind. There were layers to Dennis Reynolds, few of which were real, all of which he obsessed and picked over, each delusion and rationalization the psychological equivalent of a gray hair or an errant pimple to be taken care of.

Such was his ritual. It wasn't just for the morning.

_06:30 P.M._

_On a Wednesday_

Standing in the bathroom of Paddy's Pub, where he would usually be admiring his golden god features in the mirror, something was different. Like seeing the true Wizard of Oz revealed from behind the curtain, some gutting disappointment grew in him, a gnawing sensation that the shrine he'd built for himself all of his life had just been invalidated.

Last night. That girl last night, so young, but legal, nubile, vulnerable, a perfect candidate to be corrupted. She would know what it was like to have sex with a god before being cast out of his presence, back into the world of the inferior masses. Only, that's not what happened. Everything he tried failed. All of the usual tactics backfired. She looked at him the way he'd seen other women look at something they found repulsive, disgusting, abhorrent... the way some of them looked at Frank, even.

It's not like he hadn't struck out before, but this was becoming more frequent. And now, to have been thwarted when the setting, the mood, the scenario, all meticulously crafted, flawlessly executed, when she should have had no choice but to be clay in his hands, it drove him mad. She scorned him. Him! The god among men! THE GOLDEN GOD! He pulled on his face wherever he saw a wrinkle, trying to make the skin draw itself taught when he let go, the way it did when he was young. He plucked out every hair on his head that looked even remotely gray. He laid a little more foundation on the imperfections crawling along the undersides of his eyes. As his rage seethed to the edge, as he gripped the sink with whitened knuckles, Dennis pressed his face close to the mirror. When I was young, the thought came. He no longer recognized himself. What was this flabby skin under his neck? The puffy redness around the eyes? These wrinkles along his chiseled cheeks? Why was his hair betraying him, thinning and graying around the edges?

Dennis walked out to the bar, his fists shaking with fury as his mind scrambled to rebuild its temple of rationalizations. Somewhere along the way he compared himself to Zeus, conceding that even the greatest of the Greek gods had white hair. Didn't he? He was older, wiser than the others, that was it, but he was still a god, still fit as any of them, better in fact, his proportions carved out from the fabric of divinity. But Zeus could sleep with any mortal he wanted, they did not resist him, could not resist him. Dennis, on the other hand, was resisted. What was happening to him, why was his greatness diminishing?

He glowered with fire as he looked down his nose at Mac and Charlie, sucking back beers at the end of the bar closest to the entrance, engaged in some inane prattle. He saw the slight uptick of weight back in Mac's face and neck. _He's been in my thin mints again, that son of a bitch!_ Charlie, well... he was as much the walking sack of filth as ever. But these men, they were easy, they comforted Dennis with their inferiority, for he was in a position to dictate the courses of these fools' lives. He'd been in their skin for years upon years, getting off over and over every time he successfully manipulated them according to his designs.

"Hey Dennis," Mac said with pure, enthusiastic innocence.

How dare they regard me like an equal? "Mac," he growled back.

"O... kay. You feeling alright dude? You look pale." With concern, Mac's eyes grew large like a puppy's. "You been starving yourself again, dude!?"

"Just staying trim, Mac, paying the small prices for physical perfection, something you wouldn't know about." Dennis laughed as arrogantly as he could muster as he leaned against the bar, his head feeling light. He shook it off. "I have yet to peak, it's, you know, to be expected that on the way to the top you might have to make a few sacrifices here and there."

"Dennis, why don't you just have a sandwich or something, chill out, you know?" Charlie asked before biting into what Dennis hoped was a tuna sandwich. Given the smell coming from it he wouldn't be surprised to learn it was actually cat food. "And you didn't even hear the news! Man, Frank and I, last night we--"

"Don't care," Dennis interrupted, chuckling smugly. "I really don't need to hear about what two disgusting men do in bed together."

"Hey Dennis, come on man--"

"No, you know, I've already had enough of this. This day, this day is for the golden god to rest, that's what I have decreed. You two can run the bar tonight." He walked around the counter and started toward the door. "Not like we have any customers anyway, you dumb fucks, since the place smells like cat food. And the first thing they have to see is you guys, which, I've gotta be honest here, is really starting to cramp my game. When I get back I think we'll need to give some thought to the first impressions of Paddy's Pub. Priority should be given to women being able to see my gorgeous face first, before their libidos become disengaged by the wretched excuses for masculinity that you two call yourselves."

"Jesus dude, what got into you?" Mac turned in his chair, beer still in hand, his eyes squinting incredulously at Dennis as he processed this display.

He didn't answer. He stormed out into the streets. Here Dennis skulked for minutes, hours, didn't matter. His legs were on auto-pilot as his mind fought with itself over what was really happening to him.

_You are the master of your own universe, British Dennis said to him, in here, you are God._

_Then why am I turning into this... this freak?_

_It is a bloody good question, I'll admit. Perhaps you've been holding back. Perhaps you haven't allowed yourself to realize your full power, chap._

_Yes, go on._

_Aw, well, even gods need exercise, right? Gotta flex those divine muscles now and then. When was the last time you took some gold ol' bloody revenge?_

_Too long._

_Ah. I see. Why a right proper smite would do you some good. You got anybody in mind?_

_The person-turned-cat that's stealing my money every month._

Somewhere in his journey to nowhere the images in his mind's eye shifted to Maureen Ponderosa, on how he would like to put his hands around that feline neck of hers, to choke the life from her, to steal back from her what she took from him. To repay her for at one time making him feel like he was told humans should, the only time since being raped by the librarian where he'd felt anything. For reminding him how empty he truly was. For these past few years now taking from him the money he needed to keep his life of mastery over his intellectual inferiors intact.

And he was so very empty, he realized. The god hole remained unfilled. He burned a different way than the others, the "normal" humans. From the time he was born he'd been made into a facade, a mask of himself over the void within. Always with his mother building up his vanity, his desire to be acknowledged as superior. Always it had been to please mommy, for her disapproval sent him reeling back into the emptiness. Every time he skipped a meal, every time he dressed himself perfectly, every time he arranged his hair with not a strand out of place, for every "correct" socially acceptable decision he made, he stayed her disapproval, and increased the misery mother inflicted upon his sister. It was always that way, and as the years went on it was cyclical, it was exponential, the shit piled on Dee further magnifying Dennis's sense of greatness, of purpose, of being better than the others. The elevation he experienced at the expense of his sister's self-esteem and happiness became his drug, one from which he to this day had not broken away from. What withdrawal he'd experience, he wondered, if he ever did. Crack would probably seem like child's play in comparison. Back in the short time where it seemed as though Dee might have actually become a success, when he felt the spectre of abandonment and loneliness loom over his life, he wondered how long he would have lasted before completely self-destructing.

Dennis spat at the idea of not being to take revenge on his mother. She never asked Dennis if he wanted to be born! How dare she? He never asked to be thrust into high society, forced to endure a childhood of psychological manipulation and torture that shaped the course of his entire life. He never asked to be addled with a handicapped twin sister, to have whatever real, human feeling he might have ever had for her squeezed out by their mother, to be replaced by a never-ending vicious cycle of addiction, feeding off her despair to keep his fake greatness afloat. He never asked for the nights that he and Dee almost...

_They'll all pay the ultimate price..._

Dennis was never asked by anyone if he wanted to endure the torture of school, of Tim Murphy's fake, condescending friendship, of being betrayed on prom night, of all the times his sexuality was questioned... _how dare they!_ Of being forced by his own loneliness and desperate need to control others into the company of Mac and Charlie, so he could continue to feed off the manipulation and conniving his mother's upbringing instilled in him.  
_I never asked for this,_ Dennis thought as he entered the night club, as he eyed up his potential prey for this evening. He would not be denied tonight. _I never asked for any of it. No one received my permission to bring me into the world. But I've come too far now. The god hole will be filled with something, with someone, until it's gone or I die._

There was an alluring young brunette by the bar. Lithe, supple, tall. Her dress was cut high, showing off her long, tan legs. Her breasts practically popped out through the plunging neckline. His hunger intensified. The thumping bass in the electronica drowned out the inane chatter of those around, it focused his mind. The damp fragrances of preppy colognes and top shelf liquor making his godly nostrils flare, invigorating him. In here, the dark lighting was ideal to hide those betrayals of imperfection on his face, made him look younger. He popped his collar, pouted his lips, flooded his brain with the thoughts and machinations of the D.E.N.N.I.S. System as he approached his target.  
I will not be denied tonight.

* * *

  
The next morning, Dennis woke up in the bathtub, naked. His cock felt sore, the way it did when it'd been squeezed into some especially tight pussy. His skin was sticky from sweat. He sighed as he sat up, as his head rang from its hangover. A tiny flicker of self-pity emerged somewhere in the deep, black recesses of his inner void, pity he felt for not being like the other humans. He felt sorry for a moment that he was destined to always be an empty, shallow, misunderstood man, a sensitive man whose deep well of feelings he'd once had as a child, replaced now by the endless addiction to control, to the unbending biological and psychological need to exalt himself at the expense of others, to always be on the run, scarcely a step ahead of the abandonment and loneliness always chasing after him. His outs were gone, no longer did he think he could escape into the other lives he imagined he could whisk himself away to. No, he was stuck with the Gang, and they would have to remain his drug to keep the emptiness at bay. He wept a single tear for himself, realizing in that moment he no longer cared, might never be able to care again what he had done last night, what he would do every other night from here on until he died.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is my second and final Sunny fanfic. My ex loves this show to death and I can't watch it anymore because it reminds me of her. I can't write any more of this content even though I had some more ideas in mind.
> 
> Nonetheless, I'm dedicating this to her. I hope she finds happiness in life. We did and said some really foolish and hurtful things to each other. I wish it hadn't turned out the way it did but we're only human. Sometimes we do things because we're scared or hurt or confused. All we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.
> 
> FIN


End file.
